Sweet Charles: "For Sweet People From Sweet Charles"

Bona fide rare funk BOMB.  James Brown produced this ultra-difficult-to-find LP for his on-and-off bassist/band-leader “Sweet” Charles Sherrell, and it sounds like no other record on the JB-owned People label.  Often you wonder if you’re listening to a Curtis Mayfield album instead; Sherrell’s falsetto and uptown-soul-with-strings approach is about as far from James Brown’s raw funk jams as possible.  There are, however, moments with heavy drums and funk breaks, such as the radically rearranged take on the Hayes-Porter classic “Soul Man,” or the oft-sampled deep soul cut “Yes It’s You.”  Sweet Charles’ vocals glide lightly over the tracks, but are tough enough when the music calls for it.  This album has had hype surrounding its rarity for years, and I can definitely say it’s an important addition to the collection for the in-depth James Brown fan.

Sunbear: "Sunbear"

I looked for this record for a long time, and when I finally was able to add it to the collection it did not disappoint.  I suppose it falls under the somewhat loose tag of “modern soul,” but what sets it apart from a lot of the other LP’s in that genre is that it retains the feel of a small band session.  The disco/boogie/modern soul era was not a great one for capturing a live studio feel, but this album sits right in that sweet spot where the grooves have been updated but the production doesn’t overwhelm the listener, and doesn’t lose the strength and presence of the individual musicians and singers in the process.  My favorite track is the sublime, spacy “Let Love Flow For Peace,” but there are lots of great tunes throughout, including the heavy funk-fusion opener “Erika,” the Tower Of Power-esque “I Heard The Voice Of Music Say,” and the three-part, jazzy “Mood” bookending different sections of the album.  So, the music is incredible, and then as an added bonus, there’s a giant, blinged-out bear (“Sunbear,” get it?) on the cover, with angels, humans and centaurs worshipping, dancing, even copulating beneath it.  Basically the best LP cover ever, containing within it an unheralded set of musical genius.

The Stovall Sisters: "The Stovall Sisters"

Preach.  This LP is probably most sought after for the furious groove of “Hang On In There,” and it is certainly the edgiest, most driving thing on the record, the rest of which moves at a much slower pace.  The Stovall Sisters were most famous for being the background singers on Norman Greenbaum’s hit “Spirit In The Sky,” which they cover here in a more churchy, less psychedelic style.  The liner notes say the Sisters had been singing professionally since they were children, with various stops along the way, including Lillian Stovall’s description of them having been the “18^th version of the Ikettes” for Ike & Tina Turner.  Though the Sisters are quite clearly rooted in gospel, this is definitely an attempt at more of a pop/soul crossover, though that attempt ultimately failed if you think about how difficult the original vinyl is to find now.  There are a couple groovers, a couple soul numbers, a couple straight gospel numbers, all translated through the depth of spirit and intensity embedded in the Sisters’ harmonies and lead vocals.  I wouldn’t say this is a perfect record, but its best moments succeed in grand fashion.

The Jackson Southernaires: "Save My Child"

Further forays into the world of gospel-funk.  What I’ve found about many of the records in this genre is that, for the most part, there are usually only two or three truly funk-oriented cuts, and the rest of the material is more straight soul and/or traditional gospel.  That standard remains the case on this LP, with the heavy funk tunes being “Don’t Let Him Catch You (With Your Work Undone)” and “The Lord Will Make A Way Somehow.”  However, if you’re open to it, there are other treasures to be discovered as well, like the mostly secular ode to the Southernaires’ hometown of Smithdale, Mississippi—“Community Of Smithdale (Calls Me Home)”—a shimmering deep soul track that immediately transports the listener to the place the song is describing.  Now, you may ask, as I did, why the Jackson Southernaires are called the Jackson Southernaires if they’re from Smithdale, but then again, Smithdale Southernaires doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.  Gospel records really are an entity unto themselves, and I think what makes them so exceptional is that, opposite of most any other musical genre you can think of, this is not music that was made with any focused intent on commercial success.  Instead it is music of praise and worship, and even though I’m not much for religion myself, it is very moving, and if you spend time with it, the passion and verve with which the musicians and singers are performing is palpable.  For me personally, passion and feeling are far more important to music than any sort of calculated, more studied approach could ever be, and that’s the reason, I think, that the whole gospel sound appeals to me so much.

Bobby Taylor: "Taylor Made Soul"

One of the more obscure Motown albums…I’d never seen it before, and so when I spotted it in Portland a few weeks ago, being a Motown fanatic, I picked it up and asked no further questions.  I don’t get why this wasn’t a hit, the Motown chart-topping recipe is in full effect here, and Taylor is a soulful, talented vocalist, sounding like a less gravelly-voiced David Ruffin, leaping effortlessly from his normal register to a clear-as-the-blue-sky falsetto, punctuating the songs with a smooth yet heartbroken yearning.  There are several minor masterpieces on this LP, from the gorgeous, soaring opener “Out In The Country” to the classic Motown swing of “Oh, I’ve Been Bless’d” to the dark, psych-funk version of “Eleanor Rigby” to the vocal acrobatics of “It Should Have Been Me Loving Her.”  This is one of those last beautiful Motown albums that still reflected the Detroit feel, before the whole operation pulled up roots and sought the sunshine of L.A.  An unsung gem from the end of a classic era.

Reuben Wilson: "Got To Get Your Own"

Big band funk from organist Reuben Wilson.  This record stands out in his catalogue as it sounds unlike any of his others; though he had made a name for himself on the Blue Note label years before, riding the crest of the organ-jazz-funk popularity wave of the late ‘60’s/early ‘70’s, this Cadet LP is a purely soul-driven effort, with huge horn sections, lead vocalists, occasional strings, phased and flanged production, etc.  Wilson’s keyboard skills are still showcased, albeit in more of an ensemble soloist capacity than they had been on previous recordings.  Every song on the album is fantastic, from the extremely funky “What The People Gon’ Say,” “Tight Money” and the title track to the more subdued and sensual moods of “In The Booth, In The Back, In The Corner, In The Dark,” “Back Rub” and “Stoned Out Of My Mind.”  I’d be interested to know what Reuben himself thought of this record, considering his smaller-than-usual role in its creation; I’m guessing it was made to cash in on the funk-soul craze of the mid-‘70’s, although its effect was quite the opposite, it sank like a stone upon its release and is nearly impossible to find a copy of in its original pressing.  Beyond whatever motivations drove its incubation at the time, it now stands as a forgotten classic of sorts, as well as representing Reuben Wilson’s last major-label attempt at success until his re-emergence as an acid jazz hero for the sample-seeking set in the early ‘90’s.

Phyrework: "Phyrework"

Maybe my favorite boogie funk record of all time.  A side-project/spinoff group produced by Con Funk Shun guitarist Michael Cooper, this album reigns supreme with its virtuoso musicianship, its impeccable songwriting, and its clean yet warm production.  It’s no coincidence that it has a lot of the same jazzy complexity that always made Con Funk Shun’s work distinguishable, although it ratchets up the jazz-funk-fusion factor quite a bit more than Cooper’s band, while still sounding smooth.  There are lots of modern soul-inflected, melodic grooves, like “Do You Feel The Same,” “Comin’ For Your Love,” and “More Than A Dream,” as well as some thumping hard funk tracks, like “Put Your Hands Up” and “My Funk.”  The group also ventures even further into straight-ahead fusion territory with the instrumental “Mystic Mariner,” which showcases each of the individual members’ chops, noteworthy enough to give more well-known fusion superstars like Stanley Clarke and Billy Cobham a run for their money.  In terms of overall quality, this LP easily matches up to any more prominent soul effort you’d care to mention, and should be recognized as the kind of strong effort that very few bands could create.

Soul Generation: "Beyond Body And Soul"

Sweet, sweet soul on the tiny Ebony Sound label.  Soul Generation were a New Jersey-based group that traded in the same kind of heartbroken falsettos and love-struck pleas as more well-known peers like Black Ivory and The Moments.  This LP is interesting because it was recorded on both the East Coast and the West Coast, and so it has a unique combination of styles that is generally not found on regional soul releases.  The backing musicians from each respective coast are of an extremely high caliber as well; from the West there’s Joe Sample, Paul Humphrey and Bobbye Hall, and from the East there’s Hugh McCracken and Chuck Rainey.  These are major session names not usually associated with indie efforts, adding once again to the singularity of this project.  The music heard here is, as might be expected, quite outstanding, with Soul Generation excelling in their harmonies and vocal arrangements, helped by the fact that the songs themselves are among the best I’ve ever heard in the sweet soul idiom.  My favorite tracks are the funky “Super Fine,” the political “Black Man,” the dreamy “Sailing” and the tripped-out, yearning jazz-soul of “Sweet Thing,” led by a falsetto that has to be heard to be believed.  Anyone looking for a detour from the more famous sweet soul acts of the era should investigate this album.

The Loving Sisters: "The Sisters And Their Sons"

More gospel-funk.  This breaks the formula that I mentioned a bit, in that it has a lot more funk to it than some of the other records of this nature.  The Loving Sisters put out tons of music in the ‘70’s, more than most gospel acts ever achieved, including the modern soul-gospel hybrid “Running Short Of Love, Today,” which I’m on the lookout for if anyone has any leads.  This LP, however, is almost psychedelic at points, with its heady songs and messages, fuzz guitars, and grimy production by the sisters’ own Gladys McFadden, who would get headline billing on their later material.  The acid-laced gospel (let’s hope I don’t get struck down here and now for using that term, but it’s accurate) is most evident on “Let’s Ride” and “Cosmic Consciousness,” while other songs are slower and more soulful, like opener “I Can’t Feel At Home,” the bluesy “Joy,” and the impassioned “Save The World.”  The title of the album is apt; as the vocals on every song are interwoven between the female leads of the Sisters and the harmonized echoes (and sometimes leads) of their sons.  Though the Sisters’ names are mentioned in the liner notes, all of them having different last names, and none of said last names being “Loving,” this one remains a family affair, as it couldn’t be anything else in regards to the telepathic vocal theatrics on display.

Etta James: "Tell Mama"

The legendary Etta James, during her earlier years on Cadet.  I know that I’m always going on about the “Cadet Sound,” as it were, but this album sounds more like Stax or Atlantic, which isn’t surprising considering the whole thing was recorded in Muscle Shoals with the famed “Swampers” rhythm section.  There’s loads of classics here—“I’d Rather Go Blind,” “Steal Away,” “Security,” “Don’t Lose Your Good Thing,” the title track—all of them containing the unstoppable power of James’ gospel-blues voice, filtered through the lens of deep Southern soul groove, just as it was transforming itself from its down-home roots into something more complicated and layered, informed by the changes going on throughout the music world in 1967, the year it was made.  Shades of doo-wop mix with loud chicken-scratch guitars, rave-up soul runs up against grit-drenched horn sections, pre-funk rhythms are punctuated by electric pianos and organs.  Meanwhile, Etta James annihilates everything in her path with that VOICE, truly an unclassifiable instrument—she has the strength and presence of Aretha Franklin, the smoothness of Gladys Knight, the crackling splendor of Mavis Staples—and yet she transcends them all, she operates on her own level entirely, she takes the pain and brutality of the world and turns it into human sound.  Quite simply, there were none like her, nor shall there ever be again.  This LP captures a master at the peak of her prowess.

Jerry Washington: "Right Here Is Where You Belong"

Rampaging low-profile funk from Jerry Washington.  This stuff burns like nothing else; the conviction in Washington’s voice and the ferocity of his band are startling.  I have little background to offer on Jerry Washington himself; this is the kind of LP that is almost better left to the imagination in terms of its beginnings and reasons for being distributed, as it’s intriguing to wonder aimlessly while listening to this music what persuaded its creation and release.  Now, not every track is relentless funk—the album actually opens with the mellow Southern soul of the title track, which is lovely—but when “Our Love Is Gonna Last” comes crashing in immediately after, you know you’re in for, as OutKast said, a “funky ride.”  Other heavy funk cuts are “Baby, Don’t Do It To Me,” “In My Life I’ve Loved,” “Baby, Don’t Leave Me” and the “response” tune to Luther Ingram’s “If Loving You Is Wrong (I Don’t Wanna Be Right),” “Let Me Love You Right Or Wrong,” which features an unintentionally hilarious spoken intro by Washington in which he raps to a woman on the street over a hazy, Funkadelic-type slow groove.  This LP is solid, strange, funk-filled fun all the way through, and is well worth some deep digging to locate.

J.J. Jackson: "J.J. Jackson's Dilemma"

From the sounds of it, J.J. Jackson’s “Dilemma” must have been a mighty trippy one.  The liner notes, written by Jackson, give some clue as to what dilemma is being referenced, that is, his sojourn/artistic vision quest in England, where this LP was recorded with his all-British backing band of several years.  J.J. Jackson is most well-known for his huge soul hit “But It’s Alright,” though don’t expect to hear anything even remotely like it on “Dilemma.”  Instead, you get a lysergic dose of fuzzy weirdness, with complex, bizarre instrumentals like “Indian Thing” and “Who Knows,” as well as a few tracks that feature Jackson’s growly vocals, like a cover of Chicago’s “Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?” a wild take on the ‘60’s staple “Let The Sunshine In,” and the surreal original “Help Me Get To My Grits.”  The musical arrangements on this record are incredible; nearly every song incorporates several different movements into one cohesive whole, with influences from jazz to soul to funk to psychedelic rock to Afro-Cuban informing the grooves.  Of all the albums I’ve picked up recently, this one is perhaps the most diverse in its approach, never standing still long enough to be easily boxed into one style or form of musical identification.  Seek dope vinyl and ye shall find.

Gregory James Edition: "Prophets Of Soul"

A painfully brief and brilliant album from this one-off Chicago group.  According to the liner notes, they’d been gigging on the Chicago scene for years with various other bands before this was recorded, and they definitely sound like professionals on these songs, with an underlying penchant for the experimental.  The keyboard sounds are especially otherworldly; Gregory Bibb runs his farfisa, electric piano and acoustic piano through all kinds of bizarre processing so as to puzzle the listener into trying to figure out what kind of instrument it is that they’re actually hearing.  There’s also a million-dollar drum-break, flanged out in post-production, on the track “Changing Things,” as well as tasty, non-derivative covers of “Ain’t No Sunshine” and “Love And Happiness,” alongside righteous, driven originals like “Brother Marcus” and “Grandma Heavy.”  This is such a cool album because, even though the band itself is only a trio, they craft this expansive, psychedelic chamber-soul-jazz that sounds large and impactful while still maintaining the intimacy and tightness of a small-group studio recording.  Find this one.

Weldon Irvine: "Cosmic Vortex (Justice Divine)"

My first OG copy of a Weldon Irvine album.  Weldon’s stuff is so great because it bends to no-one’s rules except his own; “Cosmic Vortex” may have been produced for a major label (RCA), but it’s easily as underground-oriented as any of his independently-released projects.  It’s no secret why sample-heads love Irvine; his grooves issue forth with proto-hip-hop energy, and tons of his songs have long drum-breaks and/or otherwise-sample-worthy moments.  I dig “Love Your Brother” (both versions), the nonstop funk throw-down “Walk That Walk, Talk That Talk,” the NuYorican-sounding “Let Yourself Be Free” and the fusion-prog workout of the title track, but everything here is good.  Irvine’s keys are front and center, bringing with them that subtle, intensely rhythmic sensibility that always seemed at the core of his playing.  In addition to his own exceptional talents, there is a very impressive lineup of musicians on the session credits, including Lenny White, Jimmy Owens, Bob Cranshaw, Cornell Dupree, Gordon Edwards, etc.  This is the kind of record that served as a virtual blueprint for the genesis of the NYC jazz-funk scene, paving the way for many generations to come.

Marlena Shaw: "The Spice Of Life"

So, if you’ve been following my posts, you’re already aware of my fascination/obsession with the Cadet label, and here, dear reader, is one of the absolute rarest slabs of vinyl they ever put out.  Unlike a lot of the other rare vinyl I dig up, this one was rare when it first came out in the late ‘60’s, so much so that it was released in a second pressing with a different cover in the early ’70’s.  I think the copy I found may be a bastard child of the two pressings; the cover is definitely a ‘60’s original, but the vinyl is the ‘70’s-vintage orange label.  Whatever its origins, this is an incredible record, certainly in keeping with the singular flavor of other Cadet releases from this period.  Sample-heads love “Woman Of The Ghetto” and “California Soul”; I’m particularly enamored with the former, with its nodding bass-line, its reverbed kalimba, and Shaw’s testifying vocals.  The other nice cuts are the psych version of “Stormy Monday” with fuzz guitar solos (probably by Phil Upchurch, Cash McCall or Pete Cosey, though the band is uncredited in the liner notes), the moody, pensive plea of “Where Can I Go?,” and the righteous “Liberation Conversation,” which is kind of a continuation of the sound and message of “Woman Of The Ghetto.”  Marlena Shaw’s vocals are quite versatile; she can go from small-club jazz singer to full-blown soul belter in a matter of seconds, and it doesn’t hurt that the arrangements and production are handled by, as was usually the case with Cadet at this time, Charles Stepney and Richard Evans.  You already know how I feel about these two visionaries, they take an already superb band and singer and combine it with their own sonic signature, which elevates the whole undertaking to some distant and dreamy place beyond the stars.  Cadet triumphs again.

The Pazant Brothers & The Beaufort Express: "Loose And Juicy"

Yeah, you read it correctly, the name of this record is “Loose And Juicy.”  Does it live up to such descriptivism?  Mostly, yes.  The Pazant Brothers had been present on the New York scene for a while by the time this (their one and only LP) came out, gigging with Pucho Brown, Sonny Phillips and others.  This album has both its supporters and its detractors; some have criticized it for not being as raw and funky as the Brothers’ earlier 45 releases, though I think that misses the point somewhat, as it’s still a good record.  There are a couple so-so tracks, sure, but they’re more than made up for by the funk burners, like “A Gritty Nitty,” “You’ve Got To Do Your Best,” “Toe Jam” and the title cut, to say nothing of the synthed-out syncopated New Orleans strut of “Spooky.”  The Brothers themselves being horn players, the truly transcendent moments of this LP are found in the horn charts and solos, which simmer and sizzle until they reach a boiling point, and spill over with all kinds of groove-drenched niceness.  This is an interesting curiosity from the NYC funk underground that, due to its rarity, is still relatively unheard.

Grupo Irakere: "Grupo Irakere"

So, there’s rare records, and then there’s Cuban rare records.  You think it’s hard to find a record that was made in this country?  Try finding one from a country whose product was illegal in the United States!  Couldn’t believe I came across this, bought it at a record show from a dealer who specialized in Latin funk, and the whole rest of the show I was kind of just walking around in a daze, I kept looking at it to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.  Irakere is among my favorite groups of any genre; the first time I heard them, I was radicalized by their boldness, their utterly fearless blending of music from the past, present and future.  This is their very first LP, opening with the game-changing Afro-Cuban-jazz-funk cut “Bacalao Con Pan,” then moving into other territories, like the almost Beatles-y “Danza De Los Nanigos,” the rhythmic exercise “Taka Taka Ta,” the knotty, horn-driven “Luisa,” the garage-fusion-Cuban “Quindiambo,” and the percussion-led “Misaluba.”  Group leader Chucho Valdes is brilliant; his arrangements, songwriting and keyboard playing are of an extremely high standard, equaling the work of other genre-mashing contemporaries like Miles, Zawinul, Corea, etc., while at the same time remaining more rooted in concise song structures, not letting the chops of the band (which also included jazz luminaries Paquito D’Rivera and Arturo Sandoval at this time) wander off into aimless jamming.  It’s not likely you’re going to find this album lingering in the bins at your local record store, but if you’re lucky enough to spot it, cop it.

Roy Ayers Ubiquity: "Ubiquity"

Next to “He’s Coming,” this is the rarest of the Roy Ayers Ubiquity LP’s, and also is one of the best.  The production on this album is rawer and hazier than it would be on his subsequent work, and with Roy’s vibes being run through a fuzz pedal for a majority of the record, that rugged energy suits the material perfectly.  There are many Ayers classics here, including the anthemic “Pretty Brown Skin” and the low-down grunginess of “The Fuzz.”  It’s the so-called album cuts, however, that I find myself gravitating to upon repeated listens, with “Love,” “Hummin” and “Painted Desert” being among my personal favorites.  The band interplay throughout this record is spectacular; longtime Ayers associate Harry Whitaker contributes keyboards that are both ethereal and intense, as well as being a perfect foil for Roy’s fuzzed-out vibes tones, and Alphonse Mouzon drives the whole thing with his relentless yet subtle drumming.  This isn’t one of Ayers’ most popular LP’s, but its underground, almost lo-fi atmosphere makes it all the more wonderful for those with open ears and minds.

The Artistics: "I Want You To Make My Life Over"

Heavenly soul from Chicago’s Brunswick label.  The usual session suspects can be found in the production and arrangement credits—Carl Davis, Eugene Record, Johnny Pate, Willie Henderson, Tom Tom Washington.  They craft a similar sound for the Artistics as they did for Record’s own Chi-Lites, with subtle strings, uptown grooves and swooning harmonies all coming together to form a vision that could only come from Chicago.  The material the group performs on this album is more diverse than the usual effort of this kind; instead of pulling from the regular pool of Chicago songwriters, they go in all directions, covering “Out In The Country” (also done on the Bobby Taylor LP discussed in this same post), “What The World Needs Now Is Love,” and “That Lucky Old Sun,” putting those modern standards alongside more progressive soul material like “Just Another Heartache,” “Sugar Cane,” “Trouble, Heartache & Pain,” “Nothing But Heartaches” and the majestic title track (geez, what is it with these guys and heartache?).  To me, what stands out about these Chicago-soul-dream-team-produced-and-arranged records is the mood and the combination of elements used—like so much of the music coming out of the Windy City at that time, the use of musical aspects that would perhaps be disparate in lesser hands is masterfully orchestrated (figuratively and literally), with the harmonies, fuzz guitars, strings, horns and funk rhythms all coalescing into one magnificently soulful, uniquely American gumbo.

Groove Holmes: "Onsaya Joy"

This seems to be the hardest to find of all the Groove Holmes LP’s.  That probably has something to do with the fact that it was released on Flying Dutchman in 1975, right as that label and many other funk/soul/jazz labels were in the midst of their death throes.  It’s a shame, then, that “Onsaya Joy” suffered the fate of being lost in the shuffle of record label demise, as it might be my favorite Groove Holmes album ever, and I own more than a few.  It was recorded live at NYC’s Halfnote club, and it’s incredible to think that this band was only a trio, as they stir up a hurricane of sounds, textures and swing.  Holmes often outdid his peers in terms of his organ technique, playing not only impossibly complex runs up top but also crafting some of the most memorable organ bass-lines ever on the bottom end.  On this LP he also experiments with un-credited synthesizers, most prominently on the monstrous title track, which shifts in its second half from blissed-out soul-jazz-funk to outer-space ruminations not often found during live organ-driven performances.  The other members of the band contribute significantly to the exquisite atmosphere as well; guitarist Orville J. Saunders II mixes his style up between Montgomery/Benson-inspired solos and choppy wah-wah rhythms more likely to be found on a Kool & The Gang record, while drummer Thomas Washington, Jr. lays back in the pocket on the funk grooves and swings like Art Blakey on the jazz cuts.  There’s not a bad track on this album, from the frighteningly up-tempo takes on “Sweet Georgia Brown” and “Green Dolphin Street” to the radically rearranged R&B version of “Song For My Father.”  This one’s not easy to track down, but it’s worth the looking.